


Threnody

by Suzie Shooter Archive (Suzie_Shooter)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hope vs. Despair, Horrors of War, M/M, Rescue, Tears, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie%20Shooter%20Archive
Summary: 1945, and in the midst of the carnage Aziraphale despairs. But unexpected salvation may be at hand."If there’s one that rode away / What would I be missing / Lips that taste of tears, they say / Are the best for kissing"- 'Threnody', Dorothy Parker.(First posted on LJ, 9th August 2007)





	Threnody

_1945\. Somewhere in Europe._

It had been a good world, thought Aziraphale, sadly. When, he wondered in something that would have been despair, had that not been a sin and therefore not allowed, had it all gone to hell?

That make him think fleetingly of Crowley. They hadn't seen much of each other over the last few years. It wasn't so much that Crowley was supportive of the unfolding events, Aziraphale sensed, but more that it was dangerous for him to appear not to be. And things had been a little - strained - between them.

Dark wings seemed to enfold the land, and evil marched on all sides. It had never, after all, taken much notice of politics.

So Aziraphale went where he could, alone. Saved who he could. And with each fresh swathe of death, felt his inner light grow a little dimmer, become a little more tarnished. 

Eventually, in a dark cellar, surrounded by the stench of senseless, cold, brutal murder of innocents, and the psychic howl of recent torture fading on the ether, he fell to his knees and Despaired. His pain seared through the night, and the hordes of Hell sniffed the air and screamed in delight, and Heaven seemed not to hear.

As an angel Aziraphale had always been able to see in the dark, but as he felt his faith in a plan that allowed these things to happen gradually slipping away, so too did this ability. 

The dark crowded in on him, alone amidst wet, broken horrors. He tried to leave that place, but a part of him no longer Believed he could, and so he could not.

He closed his eyes.

And then, without warning, arms closed about him from behind. Arms that did not threaten capture, or pain, but arms that held him in a secure embrace. Arms belonging to an unseen figure that took him from that place.

He opened his eyes, and could see. They were on a mountain top, in cold, clean air and where no sound of the distant fighting could reach them.

He looked at his rescuer, who was still holding him tightly. "You came for me," he managed.

"Yes," said Crowley, simply.

"I was blind," Aziraphale whispered. "I thought I was lost. I couldn't leave. I - how could I - I didn't Believe - it was Hopeless."

Crowley smoothed Aziraphale's hair away from his face and hesitated before speaking. "You believed in me. I'd never have been able to find you, otherwise."

As Aziraphale took this in, Crowley added, almost under his breath, "And you're wrong. Hope still exists. You're my hope. You always have been." He looked out, through guarded lashes, at the man - angel - in his arms. Could see the inner luminescence returning, suffusing the form. Invisible to the humans, but always, secretly, his light in the darkness of Hell. 

A light dusting of snow began to fall on them, and Aziraphale wrapped his own arms around Crowley's neck, and started, silently, to weep.

A long time later, Aziraphale pulled away, and even managed a small smile when Crowley offered him a hip flask he'd conjured from thin air. Then his eyes dropped to Crowley's neck, and he gasped.

Where his tears had fallen, they had burnt the demon's skin, like acid. And he had never given so much as a hiss.

Aziraphale stretched out a hand to heal the angry red marks, but Crowley caught it with his own, stopped him. 

"Leave it," he said softly, entwining his fingers with Aziraphale's. "There are few things more precious than angel tears."

\--


End file.
